Again Jane-Anne laughed, and he thought she had the prettiest laugh. "Do you only defend people when they are your relations?" she asked. "I admire Lord Byron’s poetry, and I am grateful to him because he gave his life for my country—but he’s not the least little bit of an ancestor. I don’t think I’ve got any." "That must be rather jolly, because then you can play off your own bat, and people aren’t always expecting things of you because your great-great-uncle did something or other last century." "Oh, I’d like them if I’d got them," she said; "but as I haven’t—it’s no use fretting. Have you a great many?" "Nothing to speak of," he said, blushing. "I can’t think how we’ve got on to such a footling subject. You like Gantry Bill, don’t you?" "He’s a perfect dear, but why is he called Gantry Bill? What’s gantry mean—I looked it up in the dictionary, and it says——" "Oh, it’s nothing to do with that—it’s some soldiers’ lingo—he belonged to my elder brother; he’s a gunner and he had to go to Nigeria and couldn’t take him, so he gave him to me. He’s a faithful beast, and understands every word you say to him." By this time they had reached Long Wall, and as they strolled along in intimate converse they met Miss Willows, who looked hard at Jane-Anne and her escort carrying the basket of eggs. When they reached the archway leading into the builder’s yard, Jane-Anne stopped and bade him farewell. "I can’t pay you the shilling now," she said, "for I haven’t got one, but the minute I have one I’ll bring it over. I’ve spent my allowance for this month already." "Oh, please," he said, looking most unhappy; "please don’t speak of it. I broke the eggs, at least Bill did—so, of course——" "Good-bye," said Jane-Anne, and vanished in at the side-door. George Gordon crossed the road very slowly, with Gantry Bill following sedately at his heels; when they reached his sitting-room he sank heavily into the chair by the window, and the bull-terrier leapt up on to his seat on the window-sill. "I say, Bill," his master asked, "how have you contrived to see so much of her?" The shilling weighed heavily on Jane-Anne’s mind. She could not repay it herself, for she had spent four-and-elevenpence-halfpenny on the first of May, the day she got her allowance, on a pair of black silk stockings declared to be "half-price," which she had greatly coveted to dance in. Mrs. Dew would undoubtedly repay the shilling, but she would, at the same time, ask so many questions and comment so severely on Jane-Anne’s carelessness, and (this was what Jane-Anne particularly dreaded) express such horror at her "forwardness" in walking home with George Gordon, that Jane-Anne simply could not summon up enough moral courage to confess herself to her aunt. Therefore, as had happened hundreds of times in the past, there was nothing for it but to go to "the master" who would, she knew, get her out of the difficulty, and ask no questions. Yet—she felt shy even of the master.